Color Me Veronica
by ExellentlyEllen
Summary: Veronica has some major insights in herself and her past, because of some unexpected - though long awaited - contact from a past life.


Veronica looks around at the massive piles of papers and folders that are lying on every horizontal surface in her office. To others, it might seem like chaos. A disorganized mess of cases and research and precedents. To her, there's a carefully orchestrated flow between everything that surrounds her. A mastery of information in haphazardly stacked towers. It reminds her of home, of her dad's office in the slightly less shiny part of Neptune.

Of course, Neptune hasn't been _home_ in a very long time. And she actually has no idea what her dad's office looks like at the moment. She tries to picture it, the new office, but she can't. When she thinks of her dad, he's sitting in his old desk chair, head tipped back, looking at the colored light that falls from the stained-glass windows. She sees the slightly (or not so slightly) yellowing walls, the chipped doors and the creaking floorboards. She sees the place she spent so much time in, finding cheaters, embezzlers, drug-dealers… _killers_. She sees the place she had to escape from, for her own safety as well as that of the ones she loves.

She's made a pretty good go of it, out there in the 'real world'. The world she hoped would be so different from where she grew up. Turns out, that Neptune really is a microcosm. A tiny representation of the bigger world beyond its city limits. There are still cheaters, men and woman who sneak off for secret rendezvous, hoping to get some action they are deprived of at home. There are still embezzlers, searching for ways to enhance their own riches on the backs of the hard working middle class. It's just on a much bigger scale than back home.

There are drug-dealers as well, she assumes. She doesn't base this on her own personal experience with that layer of the New York population, but rather on the drugged out looks she gets from some of her fellow associates. Especially on Monday morning. She doesn't get invited to their 'special' parties anymore, having turned them down one to many times in the past. She's glad though, not because she thinks she would ever be tempted to try the 'white gold', but because she still doesn't play well with others. At least _that_ part hasn't changed, even if everything else about her is different.

At least, that's what she assumed. She hasn't done anything remotely Neptune-Veronica-ish in nearly 10 years. She doesn't carry around a Taser in her bag, she hasn't trailed anybody to seedy motels on the outskirts of town. There are no pissed off CEO's or mob sons aiming for her life. Well, not her _personally,_ at least. She's been keeping herself within the restrictions of the law, has people she can contact to tail somebody, to take the money-shot.

And still, the first time they have contact in _10 years_ , and all he says is: "You haven't changed a bit, have you?" She's pretty sure though, he's just talking about her looks, because he doesn't know her, New York her, anymore. There's no way he knows what she's like, what she's been like, since she left the town that is most certainly built on top of a Hell mouth (Screw you Sunnydale!). Just like she has no idea about what he's like, what his life is like. And she doesn't care, really. She left all that, left _him_ behind for a reason. Except for the fact that she does – in fact – care. How can she not, when the face she sees on her computer screen looks so much like _her_ Logan, and yet he doesn't look like him at all.

He's still got the same eyes, sparkling with superficial mischief and deeper lying care. But there are creases next to them now, like he spends a lot of time squinting into the sun. Which he probably does, up _there_. His hair is still the same dark brown, but instead of up in spikes with lighter streaks through it, it's cut short to his head with only a few centimeters to run his hands through. The smirk is mostly gone though, even if his lips still looks as soft and kissable as they did in high-school, and there's just an aura of seriousness around him now. Something that Veronica would never associate with 19 year old Logan. Time changes people, some more superficial than others. Veronica might look more or less the same on the outside, but she's tried her damnedest to do a complete 180 on the inside. And apparently, so did Logan.

"I could say the same about you, but it's hard to tell with all the wrinkles and the gray hair." Veronica sees Logan tilt his head, as to consider her comeback and then shake it a little. "Did you just imply that I'm an _old man_?" He says it seriously, but she can hear the smile in his voice. And how good it is to actually _hear_ it. After months of hesitant social media contact, trading silly GIFs and oneliners, brief chat sessions and missed Skype-calls.

"Not at all Echolls, I hear it's fairly common for younger men to turn gray prematurely." He snorts at that. "If these," he says as he pulls on a little pluck of his hair, "are gray, than it's to blame solely on this girl I dated in high-school. You might remember her, pesky little blonde who liked to stick her nose into other people's business."

Now it's Veronica's turn to tilt her head, considering a reply to that not-so-veiled reference to the _old_ her. "Are you sure those don't come from all those times you were behind bars, dealing with our beloved Lamb? Because let me tell you, there's nothing like a little Don Lamb to give a good-looking twenty something a few steaks of gray."

He laughs at that, and she can see the humor all over his face. His eyes narrow a little, but they shine with uncontained glee. And the sound… it's just amazing. No matter how many times she deludes herself into thinking she didn't miss him, didn't miss _them_ , the sound of his laugh evaporates all her efforts. There's no compartmentalizing when it comes to Logan. She's always all-in, whether it's hating him or loving him, and sometimes both, she always lets her passion for him flow out.

"So, you think I'm good-looking, hu? Good to know I at least still have that going for me, despite the wrinkles and the gray." Of course he focuses on that part of her reply, because what else is there to focus on, but each other and the way that even the thousands of miles between them seem to vanish when they open their mouths.

"Well, you're not bad on the eyes. Mildly attractive, I'd say." But her answer doesn't really matter. They are lost in each other's eyes, now no less so than they were 10 years ago. They stare at the screen so long, she almost starts to wonder if the image froze, but then he blinks and looks away from the screen. The moment might be broken, but the tension is still palpable.

She looks around her office again. Takes in the piles of work she should be doing, instead of spending her time gazing into the eyes of her past. She can't help but doubt that her life now was worth leaving him then. There's not much fulfillment in getting another corporate jackass off of a well-deserved law suit even if she can stretch out her investigative muscles on those cases every now and then. Way back when, she didn't always see justice being served, but at least she had the support of the people she loved. Her back was covered by people she trusted then, with her life, instead of these corporate sharks who wouldn't even blink twice before throwing her under the bus if it would mean they wouldn't be let go next.

Her eyes wander towards her screen again, and the picture of her complicated life that features heavily on it. All the pain, sorrow, love, distrust, anger… wasn't that better than this? This high-end indifference, these fake people with their monetary aspirations instead of conviction to a just cause.

She knows there is no more justice in Neptune than there is here, in the big city, but she can't help but remember one of the inspirational messages she once heard on Logan's voicemail. _Better the devil you know, than the devil you don't._

The weight of the world is still on her shoulders, only now she can't even help the person who is suffering, because she's too busy getting some egomaniacal douchebag off of a well-deserved sexual harassment lawsuit. Suddenly she doesn't think she's changed for the better. She feels like she's been slowly selling her soul for the illusion of safety.

So she let's all her doubt fall away, and, for the first time in almost 10 years, decides to follow her heart instead of her head. "I'm heading over to the West Coast tomorrow, want to grab some dinner?"


End file.
